Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of the characters except for the guy with the hair gel. You didn't seriously think I did, did you?
Chapter 2- Someone Like Me
The day passed by without event, and soon enough the final bell had rung. At the bottom of the stairs a locker full of homework awaited me. My fingers were growing ever closer to losing all feeling in their entirety. The chill of the thin metal that was meant to protect my valuables seemed to pass directly into my core, of course that was partially due to the thinning fibers of my worn-out coat.
Kneeling to the bottom locker labeled 415, a familiar perfume scent burned my nostrils.
It was her. Them, more specifically. The three girls that made every female in the vicinity cringe out of worry or anger. Every step they took created a wave of hysteria; girls aching to become their best friend, some girls hid around the corner, and others simply glared.
Guys would run their hands through their hair or stretch to show off their flexed muscles, hoping to make a good impression, some would trip in the mere mention of their names, and then there was me. I simply focused on the books I needed to take home, not even sparing a passing glance to the girls.
One of the juniors whose locker was above mine raked gel through his hair before they passed his location. Unfortunately, he was unaware that the cap was half broken, well less fortunate for me rather than him. A glob of blue, bubbly, not quite liquid yet not quite solid stuff oozed onto my plaid-covered shoulder.
Looking at me with wide, apologetic eyes, my patience was spent.
"Dude!" I said to him while trying to wipe the sticky solution off of my shirt. "Seriously!"
"Sorry, man. But you know..." he trailed off, still lusting after the three departed girls.
"Oh be serious. Take my advice, give up. They're not worth it!" I replied angrily. Normally, I was quiet and kept to myself, but there were times when my temper got the better of me. I stormed away and kicked my locker shut.
Continuing to make my way through the halls at a rapid pace, my eyes studying the floor that moved quickly beneath my feet, the peripheral vision that I counted on defied me. Suddenly, a hard body came in contact with mine, knocking books and papers out of my arms. Ducking down to recover them, I looked up to apologize.
"Sorry, I-I didn't see you, I..." My voice trailed off weakly. Looking down at me was Bella Swan. Her arms were folded across her pink, v-neck sweater, over which her thick, wavy dark hair cascaded. A white scarf hung from her neck in an elaborate knot just below her collarbone, making her pale skin seem slightly tan. Her perfectly manicured fingers were curled into fists as she watched over me.
Dark blue jeans clouded my vision as I knelt down beside them. Not daring to look into her angry brown eyes, I piled papers into my arms with great haste. To my humiliation, I began to mumble apologies under my breath.
"I'm sorry, I didn't see you, well, I wasn't looking for you, or anyone else, I see you now, and everyone else I see them too..." I felt like the biggest idiot, I felt like what everyone called me, the epitome of dufus. Taking pity on me, she did not burn me with an icy glare but instead words rolled off of her gloss-filled lips.
"Just don't let it happen again." Annoyance and mild disgust was audible in her voice. She turned to grimace with her friends and stomped away. Only then did the hall echo with laughter. Students were turning red with amusement while I turned red with embarresment. Another slash, another scar, only this time it was legitamate, for I alone had caused myself this humiliation.
With my head bowed down to the floor, I stuffed my things into my backpack and raced out the door toward the bike rack.
The rusted gray bike stood far apart from the other two that were locked there. To my dismay, the two freshman who owned them approached.
"...so yeah the dragon doesn't even breathe fire until level 5."
"Awesome! So what do you suggest I use, the big sword or the..."
I drowned out their comments about the lame video game that controlled their lives. They were considered to be no better than me on the social scale, but they would be burger flipping while I was a successful...well, something at least. Mounting my bike, I was headed toward the only place I where I never needed to protect myself. Home.
For me, home was the white mansion by the river, surrounded by trees. No one would ever guess the high numbers that littered my parent's back accounts when looking at me, and I prefered it. I used to say that it would give others a chance to know me for me, and not for my money, but now know one bothered to know me at all, and I was out of excuses.
Pedaling at the fastest rate my muscles allowed without my lungs gasping for breath, I streamed past the endless woods, past the stores that bordered the main street, and past the paved roads until I hit the path that led me under the canopy of trees. Winding past boulders and over hills and bumps, this shortcut I had made so many years ago cut through the forest and crossed the river that gushed by my window.
Every landscape that I passed was imprinted in my mind, every bump and pebble was known to me before I crossed it. Slowing my pace, soft songs of the birds wove their way into my ear. Moss crept up the sides of the once brown trees, fallen leaves rotted in the soil that my front tire plowed through. Beams of gray light that were filtered through the clouds and treetops made contact with the earth creating what I considered to be the face of heaven.
Golden gates were absent here, the floor was not made of cloud but of dirt and rock, but heaven could not possibly be more beautiful than this.
On a normal day, I would pause to admire the forest, yet today not even this sight more prestine than any artist's painted canvas could soothe me.
Rippling water came into my earshot, and I knew that the distance home was shrinking. Without a second glance to the beauty that surrounded me, I dropped my sad excuse for a vehicle, wiped my feet on the mat by the door and let myself in.
My mother was first to greet me, as she always was.
"How was your day, sweetie?" she asked as she wrapped her arms around me. "Edward, you're freezing, you must let me buy you a new coat otherwise I will pace holes in the floor wondering if you caught hypothermia." She looked over my ragged clothes, but then saw the look in my eye that was always seen by her.
Dark blue eyes glazed over my face. Cupping her hands around my cheeks she saw the solemnity in my expression. Releasing my gaze from the floor I looked back at her. "Oh Edward, what happened?" This was not the first time she had seen her only son come home like this. Leading me to the couch with a cup of green tea in her hands, I inhaled deeply and began the story.
"I'm just so sick of it, Mom. Really, I am. I don't even know why it bothers me, it just does. Can we move?" She chuckled at my last remark. I looked at her in a way that would tell her I was serious.
"But you love Forks, and you only have three years left of high school including the one you're halfway through. There has to be another way we can fix this." I am not going to lie, I was a little upset with her reaction. Wait three more years of this torture to be free? I wasn't sure I could live through it. But I knew that uprooting my family was not going to make my life or theirs any easier. It was hard enough having a son like me who spends his days studying, I didn't need to go around making it worse.
"I guess I'll just have to wait it out." Was all I could say. My mother hugged me and swiped my bronze hair out of my eyes that was identical to hers.
"There isn't anything you could do in the meantime?" she asked.
"Not that I am aware of. I got up to go to my room to finish the mountain of homework that awaited me, as I always did. I stopped to look in the mirror in the hall, something I rarely did.
My greasy long hair hung in my eyes and was partially tucked behind my ear. I did not remember the last time I had gotten a hair cut; I pulled a strand and found that the end reached my jawline. That could not be good. My brown-rimmed glasses sat awkwardly on my nose, making it seem as if my face was a-symmetrical. My eyes traveled to my clothes. A ratty, red, flannel shirt hung over my shoulders, for it was a size too big.
The beige khaki pants that were torn at the bottoms rubbed against itself noisily when I walked or even turned my thin torsoe in another direction. My anxiety-ridden face was lined with red acne that made me sympathize with pepperoni pizza.
This had to change. I knew I could not go through life like this, but I also knew I could not go through life any other way. I knew for now that I just had to stay put, that I just had to bear the harsh words and cruelty that I faced everyday. Nine school grades had passed, each day more horrendous than the last, but perhaps three years was not as long as it seemed. My stress had gotten to me, that was understandable, but I would not tolerate giving up. I had worked too hard.
Hours passed. Days passed. Weekends came and went. Calendar pages had been turned, and months had passed. Second semester had begun and the first quarter had ended. When it seemed time was standing still, it had in fact been moving. The earth had still rotated in my misery.
April dates were scribbled on the corners of homework instead of March. The first bell of the day had rung, and so had the second, but the teacher's desk remained empty. Mrs. Koenig, my homeroom teacher walked up to the front of the class with a student I had never laid eyes on before. Though I hated to admit it, my interest was peaked. I turned to face the new kid on the block, as they say.
Shy blue eyes darted between locks of blond hair that hung in his face, his shoulders slouched over making it perfectly clear how he disliked attention. Thick, black rimmed frames held rectangular lenses of his glasses. His clothes were strange, dark jeans that seemed perfectly cut made him seem even taller than he already was, a gray t-shirt was covered by a gray knitted sweater that might have even been cashmere.
The english teacher led him to the front of the room, touching the student's face with a hint of pink embarressment. Poor guy I thought to myself. It is bad enough when your peers throws you into the spotlight when it is unwanted, but even worse when the pitcher is your new teacher.
Mrs. Koenig did not mean any harm, of course, she was nice enough. She was one of if not the youngest teacher at Forks High School. She was no older than twenty five, and no taller than 5''1'. Her dirty blonde hair was swept up into a clip at the back of her head, her blue eyes darted around the classroom's reaction to the new student. In appearance, she could have been the guy's mother...
"Class, we have a new student here. This is Jasper Whitlock..." my sympathies rested with him, for his cheeks were cherry red upon the introduction. "Where did you say you moved from, Jasper?" she asked, clearly trying to get him to ease up and speak, only with no prevail. Could she not see the negative effect this had on him?
"Houston." he mumbled. His voice was soft, and traces of a southern accent still lingered in his throat.
"Great! Well, I am sure you will love it here in Forks. You can take the empty seat right over there." she said, pointing toward the empty desk in the front row next to me. It was not often that I felt as if I understood another being, but this time was different. I knew how he felt, and while that was strange to me I felt as if I had a duty to help him, that it would be selfish to allow myself to remain silent.
I went against one of my highest morals and scribbled a note on a piece of scratch paper and tore off the corner. When the Mrs. Koenig turned to face the board to begin the notes I tossed the paper ball onto his desk. Without being noticed, I watched his eyes skim over what I had written. A faint smile creased his lips as he wrote a reply.
The paper landed on my desk, and carefully I began to open it. Note passing is a hard task to undertake when sitting in the front row, and having never done it before my muscles tensed with the anxiety of being caught.
Words in my handwriting and his were scrawled out on the crinkled paper. It read:
Hey. Sorry you had to go through that, she does that with everyone.
Thanks. I guess you can say I am not one for attention.
I could not argue with that. Again, I wrote and waited for Jasper's response.
Want to meet up after school? You have a lot of work to catch up on.
Sounds great! I really need some help on this. Where should we meet?
We can meet up at the bike rack near the flagpole, and I can show you to the library if you want.
Sure, I know where that is. Thanks a lot for helping me like this.
No problem. I'm Edward Cullen by the way.
Jasper Whitlock, but you already know that.
I could not help but give a chuckle at the last addition, and I saw him grinning as well. Finally, after all this time, I had found someone like me.